


Aftermath

by missmagoo



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Casual Sex, Dealing With Trauma, F/M, Gen, Grief/Mourning, One Shot, ill-advised sex, not a romantic story, post-3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-06
Updated: 2014-10-06
Packaged: 2018-02-20 03:06:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2412659
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmagoo/pseuds/missmagoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles drives Lydia home after the events of the Season 3B finale. With Allison dead, and now Aiden too, Lydia just needs something (or someone) to hold on to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> This was originally the start of a Lydia-centric longfic that I was planning to write before Season 4 came out. Obviously, that didn't happen, and it probably never will. So this is going up as a one-shot, since I sort of feel like it stands alone as a 3B reaction ficlet.
> 
> Quick author's disclaimer: I am not a Stydia shipper. This is not a Stydia fic. This is a fic about using sex to cope with loss. I love both Stiles and Lydia, but I don't think they work together as a romantic couple, and I feel that is made vastly apparent in this fic. So if super in love, happily ever after Stydia is what you're looking for, I gently advise you look for that elsewhere.

Lydia is shaking in Stiles’ arms as they stand at the top of the stairs, overlooking Aiden’s body, his brother crying over him.

 

“He wanted to be good.” She sobs into Stiles’ shoulder, as he runs a comforting hand across her back. “He wanted to be good, but he didn’t know how.”

 

Stiles’ reply washes over her, a quiet murmuring of nonsensical comfort words. She lets the words float away, focuses instead on the tone of his voice. He sounds uneasy, unsure of how to comfort this crying girl weeping in his arms. Strangely, that’s what comforts her. His voice is cautious, but not the least bit calculating. He’s Stiles again, not some manipulating trickster fox nightmare.

 

“Take me home.” She says, sniffing back the worst of her tears, but not willing to let go of Stiles quite yet. Stiles quickly agrees, and suddenly he’s blabbering, to her, to Scott, to himself, his limbs jerking and flailing like the uncoordinated mess of a person he is, and she prefers it to the tight, precise way the Nogitsune moved. There’s a jangle of keys, and suddenly she’s being led to a car--she doesn’t know whose, though it’s vaguely familiar--and being bundled into the passenger seat while Stiles climbs in the driver’s side.

 

She doesn’t remember how they got to the school--did they drive? did they take this car? who was with her then?--she barely remembers the fight against the Nogitsune, just Kira and Scott forging through the Oni, getting slashed by their swords. She doesn’t remember if she was cut, only that suddenly they were in the school, unharmed. She remembers watching Stiles fall as a terrible feeling coiled in her gut, a signal that someone was dying, and she remembers the relief she felt when Stiles opened his eyes, thinking that maybe, for once, that feeling had been wrong.

 

Only it wasn’t wrong. It just wasn’t Stiles’ death she felt. She watches the streetlights flicker by, her vision blurred by the tears that ran unhindered down her face. Stiles is silent as they drive, likely waiting for her to say something to let him know it’s ok to talk. It’s not, though. Nothing’s really ok right now. So Lydia stays silent, and watches the lights pass.

 

She never thought she’d be grateful for Stiles Stilinski’s incessant fidgeting, but right now every jiggle of his leg, every unsubtle glance in her direction, every nervous flexing and tapping of his fingers against the steering wheel is a reminder that it really is Stiles driving her home, the klutzy boy with the hopeless crush, the boy who insists on caring for her even after years of blatant, vicious inattention.

 

Soon enough, they’re pulling into her driveway, and Stiles is hurrying out of the car and around to the passenger side, gently coaxing her out of the car and into the house. He keeps a comforting arm around her as he leads her to her bedroom, then helps her to sit down on her bed and patiently takes off her shoes. He tucks her into bed, still fully clothed except for the shoes. As he’s turning to leave, Lydia finally breaks her silence.

 

“Stay.” She says. “Stiles, please stay. I don’t want to be alone tonight.”

 

Stiles pauses in his tracks. “Ok.” He says, changing directions and heading for the chair by her window. “Ok, I’ll stay.”

 

“In the bed.” Lydia insists. “I want you in the bed with me.”

 

“I--what?” Says Stiles, “Lydia, I’m not sure that’s such a good idea.”

 

“It is.” Lydia insists, shifting over to make room for him, “I can’t handle feeling like I’m alone right now. Please, Stiles.”

 

He relents with a sigh, toeing off his shoes and climbing into the open space Lydia has made for him.

 

He’s barely laid down before she’s kissing him. She tries to keep it light and sweet, but there’s an insistence burning underneath her skin, a need to be close to someone. And Stiles is here, and he’s so sweet, and caring, and Lydia knows, she just knows that she’ll sleep better tonight if Stiles will do this for her.

 

Stiles pushes her back, though, gently, and says, “Lydia, what are you doing?”

 

She lays a hand on his chest, and looks at him pleadingly. “Please, Stiles. I just- I need to feel something that isn’t destruction and death. I need you to make me feel good, even if it’s just for a little bit.”

 

He licks his lips nervously, his eyes flitting nervously across her body. She peels off her dress, welcoming Stiles’ gaze.

 

“I-- Lyds, I don’t think this is a good idea. You’re emotionally distressed, you’re not in a good state to be making this kind of decision.”

 

She takes a breath and summons all the composure she can muster, then she meets Stiles’ eyes. “I know what I want, and I know what I’m asking for. Please, Stiles, do this for me.”

 

There’s a pause before Stiles nods. “Ok.”

 

Then she’s kissing him, and together they rid him of his clothes and her of her underwear, and Lydia presses into him, skin to skin. His hands touch her inexpertly, hesitating before touching softly, too light.

 

“I-- uh.” he gasps, “I’m kind of new to all this. So you might need to, um, take the lead?”

 

“That’s fine.” she says, and it is. In some small way, sleeping with Stiles is helping her reassert control over her life. Leading totally works for her right now. She took a college-level psychology class online last semester, she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she knows that it’s not a permanent fix. But it’s helping tonight, and right now that’s all that matters.

 

She works Stiles’ cock until he’s hard, then leans him back onto the bed.

 

“I’m gonna ride you.” She says, swinging one leg over so she’s straddling him.

 

“Ok, yeah.” He says nodding, “That sounds, that sounds really good.” She leans down to kiss him again, slow and dirty, enjoying the way Stiles lets her control the pace, the intensity. When she pulls back, Stiles is panting. “C-condom.” He stutters. “We should use a condom.”

 

She reaches over to her bedside table and pulls one out. She unwraps it and rolls it onto Stiles’ rigid cock, following the thin latex with her mouth because she can, and because she enjoys the way it makes Stiles hiss, “Oh fuck, oh fuck, Lydia, oh god.” and twist his fingers into her sheets.

 

She pulls off slowly, letting her tongue drag along the underside of his cock. This may not be Stiles’ very first time, but it’s probably pretty damn close. The least Lydia can do is make it good for him. She pulls off with one last press of her lips to the tip of his cock, then straddles his lap and guides him in, controlling the pace as she sinks down slowly, making Stiles whimper.

 

She pushes herself up, and then down again in several long, slow thrusts, watching the way Stiles falls apart underneath her, his mouth falling open and slack as he groans, his eyes squeezing tightly closed as he thrusts his hips trying to quicken the pace, but Lydia has the leverage, and she’s content to keep things nice and slow. She reaches down and grabs his hands from where they’re twisted in the sheets at his sides, brings them up to rest on her ribs, just beneath her breasts. He takes the hint and cups her breasts, thumbing her nipples. After a few moments, one hand slips down along her side, coming to rest on her hip.

 

“Lydia, please.” He gasps out, and Lydia leans forward to kiss his neck, his jaw, his mouth, before finally picking up the pace. She lifts herself up enough for Stiles to plant his feet on the mattress, giving him the leverage he lacked before. He thrusts up into her, shaky and uneven at first, and she pushes back, helping to guide him to a steady rhythm. She stays bend over him while they fuck, allowing him to kiss her with distracted, uncoordinated lips as his hands roam her body. Before long, his hands tighten around her thighs and the pace quickens as Stiles gasps her name, his pace becoming erratic as he comes with a groan.

 

“Remember to hold onto the condom when you pull out.” She tells him, and he nods and does as he’s told while Lydia rolls off him.

 

“Did you have an orgasm?” Stiles asks, as he disposes of the condom and cleans himself up with the tissues on Lydia’s bedside table.

 

She didn’t, but that’s really not what tonight’s exercise was all about. What matters is she’s satisfied, and she really doesn’t want Stiles trying to get her off out of some post-modern notion of chivalry. So instead of answering, she says, “It’s time to sleep. Come on, Stiles, lay down.”

 

She’d been expecting to lie awake, replaying the past few days’ events in her head with helpless terror. Instead, she sleeps.

 

* * *

 

 

She wakes up to the sun in her eyes, and Stiles’ arm around her waist. She tries to relax into his hold to assure herself that this is OK. After all the two of them have been through in the past year, maybe this is just a natural progression. She settles back against him, tries to imagine more mornings like this, but then Stiles stirs behind her, his nose running along the back of her neck and toward her ear as he inhales, and Lydia can’t help herself--she screams and flings herself from the bed, seeing nothing but a monster wearing Stiles’ face as it tells her that it’s insatiable.

 

“What, Lydia?” Says Stiles, suddenly awake, “Are you ok? What’s wrong?”

 

“I need you to leave.” She tells him, her voice shaking. She’s curled up naked in the corner of her bedroom, knees pulled tight to her chest. Stiles is looking at her worriedly from the bed, moving slowly like he wants to come try to comfort her, and she just can’t have that right now so she adds, “Please, Stiles. I know you’re not him, but he was wearing you face and I--Please, I just need you to leave.”

 

She’ll be grateful til the day she dies for the way Stiles simply nods, and dresses as fast as he can, and gets out. She listens out the window for the sound of a car engine starting, and relaxes as she hears the car pull away.

 

A few minutes later, her phone rings. It’s Stiles.

 

“Hey.” He says. She can practically hear the way his leg is shaking from nervous energy. “So I figured now that I’m a safe distance away, I should call and make sure that you’re alright.”

 

“I’m so sorry, Stiles.” She tells him, “I didn’t mean to--”

 

“Hey, no, none of that.” Stiles interrupts. “It’s totally fine, feel free to kick me out of bed anytime.” He laughs humorlessly at his own joke.

 

“Stiles, I know it wasn’t you. I know you’re not the one who kidnapped me, and I know that you were its victim as much as anyone, but-”

 

“But it was wearing my face. I know, Lydia. And it’s ok. Look, if you need to not see me for a while, I get it--”

 

“No, Stiles, don’t be stupid.” Lydia tells him. “I’m not cutting you out of my life because some… thing used your body to hurt people against your will. None of what happened was your fault. This morning was just-- I just had a flash of a memory and you were right behind me, and it was just too much. I’m sorry I reacted the way I did, I shouldn’t have done that to you-”

 

“Lydia, you did what you needed to. It’s fine. My fragile male ego will heal.” Then he sighs, and it’s eerie how much like the Sheriff he sounds. “Look, nothing that’s happened recently is ok, with the Nogitsune, with losing Allison. And none of us are gonna be ok for a while. So I think we all need to agree to just, help each other cope as best we can.”

 

“So still friends?” Lydia asks.

 

“Still friends.” Stiles confirms. “Though in light of this morning, maybe you and I should avoid one-on-one time. Just for a little while.”

 

Lydia sighs. She wants to be stronger than this, but Stiles is right. If the smallest gesture from Stiles can set her into a panic, it’s probably better if they have someone else around as a buffer, to help her remember that Stiles is who he’s supposed to be again.

 

“Just for a little while.” She agrees.

 

“Are you ok on your own?” Stiles asks, “Do you want me to send someone over? Like..” she hears the moment he realizes he’s about to say Allison, and a sob catches in her throat. “... Like Scott, or Kira, or someone?” Stiles finishes lamely

 

“No.” Says Lydia, “No, I’m fine. My mom’s getting back from some conference in Vegas later today, I’m supposed to pick her up from the airport in a few hours. I’ll be fine til then, it’ll give me time to pull myself together.”

 

“You don’t have to be together right now, Lydia.” Stiles says, his voice suddenly soft. “Your mom may not know about the supernatural stuff, but she knows you just lost your best friend. She won’t just expect you to be ok.”

 

“She doesn’t, actually.” Says Lydia, roughly wiping away the tears that have suddenly appeared. “Know, I mean, about Allison. I’ll tell her, though, when she gets here.”

 

Stiles makes a small approving noise, and for a moment they just sit quietly, listening to each other breathe.

 

“Can you do me a favor, though?” Says Lydia, breaking the silence.

 

“Yeah, of course. Anything.” Promises Stiles in a rush.

 

“Can you find out the Party Line for--” she takes a stuttering breath and tries again, “Can you find out what they want us to say about Aiden?”

 

“Of course.” Says Stiles, “Do you want me to call or text you?”

 

“A text is fine.” She says. “Thanks for calling to check up on me, Stiles, but I’m doing ok. I’m gonna go, probably to put on some angry music and cry for a bit.”

 

“That sounds like a very good plan.” Stiles says. “I’ll let you get to it, then.”

 

“Hey, Stiles?” She says before he can hang up.

 

“Yeah?”

 

“I was thinking, we should get together soon, all of us. Just to, you know, check in with each other, and figure out where we go from here.”

 

“Like a pack meeting?”

 

“Yeah.” Lydia says, “Like a pack meeting.”

 

Stiles laughs. It’s small, but at least this time it’s genuine. “Scott’ll like that. I’ll see what we can do about pulling that together.”

 

They hang up, and suddenly Lydia’s alone in her house. After a few moments, she gets up, pulls on her dressing gown, and goes to find her mom’s old record player. She puts on the saddest record she can find - an old Billie Holiday LP - and curls up on the couch and cries.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on tumblr! [Whee!](http://minervamagooglie.tumblr.com/)


End file.
